


A Celebrated Man Amongst the Gurneys

by j_marquis



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Silent Hill
Genre: Horror, Silent Hill - Freeform, mindfuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_marquis/pseuds/j_marquis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For fuckyeahjohnlockfanfic's Halloween contest</p>
<p>RE: Silent Hill, W. Virginia: M. Holmes to S. Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Celebrated Man Amongst the Gurneys

RE: Silent Hill, W. Virginia: M. Holmes to S. Holmes.  
CONFIDENTIAL: To be opened immediately.  
DO NOT IGNORE THIS MESSAGE, BROTHER.

25 DEC: Reported disappearance of family MASON receives widespread attention among occultists/interested parties. First of many disappearances related to location. Memo RE: MASON attached.

22 JAN: First team, consisting of [NAMES REDACTED] sent to W. Virginia to ascertain truth of rumors involving town SILENT HILL [Pop. 0] and possible hallucinogenic aftereffects of underground fire in relation to MASON INCIDENT.

28 JAN: Final message from first team sent. See attached AUDIO FILE.

29 JAN: One week passed, no contact from first team.

31 JAN: Second team, consisting of [NAMES REDACTED] sent to SILENT HILL to find and retrieve first team.

07 FEB: Second team lost.

SHERLOCK: Attached are two tickets to W. VIRGINIA. Car is rented in JOHN H. WATSON's name. Authorizations have been made to carry firearms if necessary. Take car and memo to SILENT HILL and ascertain what has become of both teams. Any further information about underground fire, possible hallucinogenic effects, and prior disappearances: MASON FAMILY, SULLIVAN-TOWNSHEND [attached], SUNDERLAND [attached] most welcome.  
Best of luck, brother.  
END MEMO

The air is thick with ashes (remnants from the underground fire?) or perhaps snow. Both, seems likely. Abandoned town, closed store fronts and fading street lamps, someone must still be around, or perhaps the operating system still runs (thirty years later, seems unlikely). It was not this cold stepping off the plane. According to the now wrecked car, just entering the town lines had dropped the outside temperature ten degrees farenheit. He shudders for the skidding screech of tires and shattered glass, the car radio descended into static. 

John is gone, he realizes belatedly when the ash(snow) settles on his coat shoulders and flakes away from his hair. John is just... Gone, as though he was never there to begin with. No footprints. No memories or lingering words. Like there was never a small army doctor walking alongside him. "John!" He yells, his voice echoing in the nothingness, "John!" His words echo back to him, they sound like someone else's. Another John, or was it John they asked for? When he thinks, he is not sure whose name bounces off the walls of the abandoned shops. He runs. John is gone. He runs. He is gone. He runs. Someone is... Missing. Are they? There is no physical sign anyone was ever here. But something is gone. He misses something (someone?). It was there. It was just there. It was warm and soft and right.

It is cold. He rubs his arms, his chest, breathes into his gloved hands. The ashen snow falls firm and piles in the window frames. His skin is taking an ashen blue color, where it shows. Indoors. He pushes at doors, runs his shoulders until something gives. And everything is white. And the door is closed behind him. And locked. And there are no windows (were there windows before?)

And the door is sealed and everything is utterly silent. Opposite him is a mirror and he is staring back at himself with something empty in his eyes and hollow in his cheeks. He looks like a skeleton come back to life, the ashes (snow?) in his hair trailing off and melting into the harsh, bright white floor. Like nothing was ever there. No one was ever there. He is alone. He is being watched. There is something else alive in this room with him. He knows that without doubt. It moves in the mirror but when he turns he cannot see it. Did he ever see it in the mirror? He doesn't know, he isn't sure. There is nothing in this room, nothing he can glean about his surroundings. Nothing to deduce. It's plain glaring empty and there. There it is. That movement again. Dark eyes, so much like his own. So much like his other's. (Dead, because that's what people do.) Names, names are gone now. It's empty. Something is there, dark eyes and sallow skin.

He runs at the mirror. (Collides.) And he pulls away and he tests the mirror and it is one sided and is it watching? Can it see him from the other side of the mirror? Is that where the sunken face and dark eyes and blood, trickles slowly, so slowly, down his face. like tears from the corner of his eyes. He wonders a moment if it is his own reflection.

And he doesn't know what is real anymore.

And it is looking at him.

And it is smiling.

He touches the glass once more and he remembers the stories about Alice and the looking glass and the upside down topsy turvy madness where nothing was real and there is nothing to deduce. Nothing.

And it flakes away like burnt skin to reveal something that is red and fleshy and pulsating and Sherlock Holmes can walk through the mirror and wonder what he lost to get here. What was with him, something (someone) missing. He wonders, but he doesn't know, watching the walls flake away like so much that is lost. What is lost? (Who is lost,  
oh God,  
who is  
lost?)

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to wingsicle on tumblr because I love her.


End file.
